


Inquiring Minds

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Canon Speculation, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes wants to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inquiring Minds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for JWP #5: **'Three Continents Watson.'** :  We know that two of them are Europe and Asia. But what is the third, and why was Watson there? Tell us!  
>  **Warnings** : Random bit of ficcery that expects some knowledge of FINA, EMPT, and SIGN, among other canon events, although it can be read without them. **And absolutely no beta.** This was written in a complete rush. You have been warned.  
>  **Thanks to:** [](http://pompey01.livejournal.com/profile)[**pompey01**](http://pompey01.livejournal.com/), whose timely comment and extensive canon-knowledge helped inspire this story.
> 
>  
> 
>  

 

“What was the third?”

Holmes’ abrupt question jolted me out of the pages of my yellow-backed novel and left me bewildered. “I beg your pardon?”

Holmes stirred restlessly in his usual chair by our sitting-room fire. “You wrote that you had ‘an experience of women which extends over many nations and three separate continents.’ A reader can easily infer that two of those continents are Europe and Asia, given the relative locations of London and Kandahar. But what was the third? I know it wasn’t Australia, despite your picturesque anecdote of Ballarat’s prospecting fields.”

So he had read _The Sign of the Four_. I noted it, but did not pursue the matter just then. We were still somewhat uneasy with each other, that summer of 1894, still settling into the new picture of our lives after the ructions of marriage, Moriarty, and three years of what I, at least, had thought was a fatal separation that would only end on the other side of my grave.  I pushed that thought away, and instead answered his question. “Africa,” I said with a reminiscent smile.

“You were not stationed there.” It was a statement, not a question, but I heard the underlying query just the same.

“No. The hospital ship home had a mechanical failure that forced us to halt for repairs at Port Said. We were helped ashore and remained in quarters in the European district for almost two weeks.”

“Ah. So your experience with women there…”

“…was limited to the kindly visits of those charitably-inclined wives, sisters, and daughters of those who lived there,” I acknowledged. “A few of them patted my hand, and a bold miss went so far as to kiss my cheek ‘to make it better,’ if my memory serves. I believe she was about four years of age.”

Holmes snorted. “Hardly what your readers imagined what you meant.”

“By design,” I replied, mildly enough.

It might have been mild, but even so, the mere mention of the intent drew Holmes’ brows down into a fearsome frown. “It cannot have been comfortable for you, all the same. I regret - ”

“There is nothing to regret,” I interrupted him firmly. “If some people are coarse-minded enough to draw crude inferences about the nature of my experiences with women around the world, what of it? Mary didn’t mind. I would have written something else if she had objected. As it was, it served its purpose, or so I must assume.” I shrugged and regarded Holmes with raised eyebrows. “It is hardly the oddest request of yours I have carried out, after all, to implicate myself as some kind of world-wide Lothario prior to meeting Mary.”

Holmes’ frown lessened, changing from an expression of self-directed anger to one more thoughtful. “I suppose it is not the worst thing I have ever asked of you, my dear fellow. But I don’t believe I ever explained the circumstances, or told you of the villain you helped bring down with your tale.” He paused. “I don’t suppose you would care to hear about it?”

The words might have pretended indifference, but I knew Holmes well enough to see the genuineness of the offer behind his usual reserve – and hear the implied apology. I nodded with glad acceptance of everything, spoken and unspoken. “I should like nothing better.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 5, 2013


End file.
